


What it Means (To Be Loved)

by three_days_late



Series: Febuwhump 2021 [26]
Category: One Piece
Genre: FebuWhump2021, Gen, Hurt Vinsmoke Sanji, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Recovery, Self-Worth Issues, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29724330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_days_late/pseuds/three_days_late
Summary: He couldn’t fight, he couldn't walk, he couldn’t cook. All he could do was lie there and be so fucking useless.When Sanji injures his legs and his hands, his friends help him recover.
Relationships: Mugiwara Kaizoku | Strawhat Pirates & Vinsmoke Sanji
Series: Febuwhump 2021 [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139261
Comments: 22
Kudos: 137
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	What it Means (To Be Loved)

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Oh I'll just do a scene between Sanji and each of his friends, that should be short and easy  
> Me 4000 words later: 9 crewmates is......a lot
> 
> For the [Febuwhump](http://febuwhump.tumblr.com/) day 26 prompt: Recovery.

“You, took a lot of damage,” Chopper explained, looking everywhere but at Sanji, “In your legs, and your, uh, hands.”

Sanji was lying on the bed in the infirmary, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear what Chopper was saying, but wasn’t processing it, wasn’t processing much of anything.

Because he broke his own rule. Despite his best efforts, he hurt his hands.

He couldn’t fight, he couldn't walk, he couldn’t  _ cook _ . All he could do was lie there and be so fucking  _ useless _ .

“But, it’s okay,” Chopper continued, doing his best to be upbeat, “It’s all recoverable. There’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to regain proper motor functions in the damaged areas. It’ll take a while, a long while probably, but the time will fly by. You’ll be up and about before you know it.”

Sanji closed his eyes and tried to move his hands. He could do that much at least, but the pain that shot up from even attempting was too much. How was he supposed to cook like this? If he couldn’t cook then what was the point of him?

Chopper crawled onto the bed and sat on his chest, giving him as stern a look as he could muster in this form.

“I know you’re upset,” he said, digging his hooves into his shirt, “I know you’re sad and angry and depressed. But you can’t lose hope. You will regain full use of your hands again. It’s going to be a long, hard road to recovery, but I know you can do it. You can! But if you give up, if you lose that hope,” he sniffled, eyes growing watery, “I’ll help you in any way that I can, but I can only do so much.”

Sanji stared at him, “When, will I be able to cook again?”

“Not for a while,” he admitted, “In order for your hands to heal properly, you can’t overdo it. Even standing right now will be difficult for your legs.”

He glanced out the porthole, at the soft sunset dancing across the ocean.

Suddenly hooves grabbed his face, and Chopper turned his head to face him again, tears falling from his eyes.

“Please don’t give up! I’ll do what I can for you, but you have to try! Please!”

Sanji stared at him, and his heart broke anew. It was the first real emotion he’d felt since he woke up to his hands a mangled mess, but he was the one who did this to Chopper, wasn’t he? Him and his apathy.

Slowly he lifted his hand and placed it on Chopper’s head. It still burned in a way that it shouldn’t, but at least he could move it. At least he could feel it.

And that was a start.

“Okay, I’ll try.”

* * *

Sanji stared down at his hands wrapped tight in bandages. They throbbed painfully, which was good, pain meant feeling and feeling meant that he hadn’t destroyed them completely, he hoped. He would be able to cook again at some point, right?

He just had to keep that hope alive in his heart, but with each passing day of more of the same, it became harder and harder.

But he said he’d try, so try he must.

There was a knock on the door, and in came Robin with a bouquet of flowers almost as lovely as she was.

“Good morning,” she said with a smile that made his heart skip a beat, “How are you feeling?”

“Much better, now that you’re here,” he smiled back and hid his hands in the blankets.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she placed the flowers in a vase on the table, “They’re at their peak bloom, so I thought it best to pick them before they succumb to the slow decay of time.” She glanced at him, “And I thought they’d brighten up the room.”

“Nothing can brighten a room better than your smile,” he said.

She smiled again, making his heart swoon, and reached out to touch one of the flower petals. He reached out to touch it too, but stopped when he remembered the state of his hands.

Her hand fell away from the plant. “It’s strange to think about, isn’t it, how something so beautiful can be so fleeting.”

He stared down at his hands, “Yeah.”

She laid one of her beautiful unblemished hands over his broken ones, “Recovery takes time and patience.”

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“You’ll be healed and back to your old self in no time. You just need to give yourself time to rest.”

His hands twitched. But what if he didn’t heal? What his hands never returned to normal? What good was he to his friends if he couldn’t cook for them?

But he couldn’t put those thoughts into words, so he smiled at her, “Yes, of course.”

Her smile turned sad, and as if she could read his thoughts, she said, “We’ll love you know matter what. You know that right?”

“I,” he started, but stopped. Part of him knew that, but a much larger part wondered for how long they could keep that up if he couldn’t cook and couldn’t fight. 

“I see,” Robin said, taking his silence for an answer as she leaned in and kissed his head, turning him into a blushing and stuttering mess, “We’ll just have to do a better job of showing you.”

* * *

“I’m just saying,” Franky said as he held Sanji steady, “it could work, if you want. If we have to.”

Sanji scowled as he moved his legs through the exercises Chopper told him to do, both to keep him moving and to help his legs remain functional, “I don’t want robot legs. I don’t want robot hands.”

“What do you have against robots?”

“Nothing, it’s just,” he sighed and glanced at his pitiful hands resting on Franky’s arms, “I need my hands functional again. I don’t want to chop them off and replace them with metal bits.”

“I’m sure they will be, Chopper’s a super doctor,” he flashed him a thumbs up, “Just stay positive. I’m just saying, even if for some reason they don’t work again, and it doesn’t have to be because of this, it could be because of something completely unrelated later down the line, I’m totally down with building you robot hands.”

Sanji scowled as he remembered Zeff’s persistent lessons. Keep your hands safe, Sanji, they’re the only pair you have. You can’t cook without hands.

“Or legs,” Franky continued as he stared down at Sanji’s trembling legs, “Legs with rockets in them, for extra kicking power.”

“I don’t need rocket powered legs.” As he said that, his organic legs gave out.

Franky caught him easily and helped him back into bed, “Of course you don’t need rocket powered legs. I don’t need lights on my nipples or a button on my nose that styles my hair. But they’re fun to have and they sure do come in handy.”

He stared down at his hands.

“C’mon, tell it to me straight,” Franky said with a sigh, “What’s so bad about robot hands?”

They’d be clunky, he thought, clunky and hard to maneuver. He needed hands strong enough to chop and slice ingredients, durable enough to turn hot meat on the grill, delicate enough to decorate the pastries he makes for his friends as a treat.

If a machine could do all that, then what was the point of him?

“They’d be different,” he eventually said.

Franky turned his hand palm up and popped out his little hand. It waved at him then extended to delicately readjust the bandages on his hands that had slipped during his exercises.

“Of course it’ll be different,” his hand moved up to ruffle his hair, “Everything changes constantly, nothing’s ever the same twice.”

He swatted the hand away and Franky retracted it, “It’s not a bad thing. You’re not the same as you were five years ago, or two years ago, or even last week. As a human, you’re always moving forward.” He nodded down at his hands, “Even with setbacks, we’ve gotta keep moving forward. And if I can help you do that, then I will.”

Sanji looked down at his hands and curled them into fists. He managed to hold them like that for a bit before the pain became too much and he released them, “I’ll think about it.”

“Okay, super,” he gave him a thumbs up as he walked towards the door, “Mull it over, let me know what you come up with.”

“Franky,” he called out just before he left, “Thanks.”

“No problem, bro,” he said with a grin, “Anything to help.”

* * *

“It’s a sad, sweet melody,” Brook said, his fingers flying across his violin, “but it should be full of hope and joy, to emphasize our reunion.”

Sanji stared glumly out the porthole at the setting sun. his hands ached where they rested on the blankets, hearing the song but not really listening to Brook’s comments.

After a while, the music stopped. “Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Sanji sighed as he flopped back on the pillow, “I’m not a musician.”

“Yes, obviously,” he said as he sat carefully down in the chair, adjusting his long limbs until he was comfortable, “I’m not asking for your expertise on composition and chords. I’m wondering what you thought as a listener, as a key member of the audience.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, growing agitated. It’s not like his opinion mattered here. Couldn’t Brook ask someone else? “You know Laboon better than I do.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “But I would still like your input.”

“Why?” He snapped, “You’re the musician, not me. My input doesn’t mean shit. I’m-” Useless, he thought but couldn’t say. Bedridden, a burden, worthless. Why should his thoughts on anything matter? His hands twitched as he clutched as his blankets, “not. Musical.” He finished lamely.”

Brook was silent, looking as put out as a skeleton could, “You’re an important member of this crew and one of my dear friends. I have a lot of respect for your thoughts and opinions.”

Sanji scoffed and looked away, but he continued, “I want the song I play for Laboon when we meet again to reflect everything I’ve seen on my journey back to him. I want him to know about everyone, about you. Your friendship means a lot to me. It may be selfish of me, but I want a part of you in the song, and I want to get it right.”

Sanji stared at him as he picked up the violin again. He was always thinking about his presence and impact on other people, about how much of a bother he was and how hard he was to be around, so he went out of his way to make up for his existence and be as tolerable to the people around him as possible. He had never stopped to consider that his impact on others might be positive, that they might actually like having him around.

He watched as Brook re-tune his violin, and smiled. He didn’t know what it was about him that Brook liked so damn much, but he was glad he did. He was glad they were friends.

“Can you play it again?”

“Of course,” he lifted his violin and began.

He leaned back and listened to the song appreciatively, letting the melody flow over him.

* * *

Sanji sunk into the bath, the warm water stinging his cramped and aching legs at first, but quickly relaxing and soothing them.

Jinbei slid into the bath as well, giving him enough space so that they weren’t on top of each other, but not-so-subtly staying close by in case he needed help.

He scoffed. He didn’t need help  _ bathing _ . He wasn’t a child or a devil fruit user. It was bad enough he still couldn’t walk far enough to get here on his own and had to have Jinbei carry him. He could certainly take it from here.

“I don’t need help bathing,” he said aloud, just to make sure he knew that.

“I never said you did,” Jinbei answered as he settled in, letting out a relaxed sigh of his own.

Sanji sunk further into the water, but made sure to still keep his hands out of it. The hot water was doing wonders for his legs, but he didn’t want to risk the heat injuring his hands even more than they already were.

“It’s fine if you do, you know,” Jinbei said as he leaned his head back against the side of the tub and sunk further under the water, “Need help that is.”

Sanji looked away.

He didn’t want help, he didn’t want to need help. He didn’t want to burden the people he cared about more than he already was.

“We all need help sometimes,” he continued, “No one can get through this life on their own.”

He scoffed, “Even you?” He couldn’t imagine someone as proud and sure of himself as Jinbei running around asking people for help.

“Of course,” he said easily, surprising him, “I need help all the time. I needed help with Fishman Island, and you guys didn’t hesitate to step in. Needing help isn’t a weakness, and receiving it doesn’t mean you’re a burden.”

Sanji remained silent, fingers playing with the surface of the water as he mulled over those words.

“We all want to help your recovery in whatever way we can,” Jinbei continued in that infuriatingly reasonable tone of his, “We all want to help you. I know that if the situation was reversed, you wouldn’t hesitate to help me.”

He felt something inside of him finally relax and let go, because that was undeniably true.

He let his hands sink into the water. The heat stung at first, making him flinch, and he almost pulled them right out again, but eventually the warmth seeped in and became soothing.

“Uh,” he started, eyes darting to the bar of soap between them and then quickly away, to anywhere but Jinbei as he asked, “Can you get my back?”

“Of course,” he said as he grabbed the soap and closed the gap between them.

Sanji turned his back to him, and as Jinbei rubbed the soap into it, he closed his eyes and relaxed, a quiet peace settling over him.

* * *

“Should you be out and about?” Nami asked him from his kitchen.

Sanji sat down carefully at the counter, “Chopper said it’s good for me to get up and use my legs every so often.”

“Oh,” she turned back to the stove, “Then, good.”

It was strange seeing someone else in a space that until recently had been his and his alone, but he’d let Nami get away with murder, so if it was her it was fine.

“What are you making?” He asked.

“Chicken and mashed potatoes,” she said with a frown, then turned back to him, “If that’s alright.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Just, if you had something else in mind.”

He flexed his hands. They were getting better, but they still hurt. They still weren’t able to do what he wanted them to, and something as strenuous as cooking would be too much for him to handle right now.

“I don’t think I have a say in that right now.”

“It’s your kitchen,” she insisted, “You’ll always have a say.”

His heart melted, touched by the sentiment, and if he wasn’t already madly in love with her he’d fall for her all over again, “I think chicken sounds delicious.”

She smiled at him, and his heart fluttered.

“Here,” she put the tea kettle on the stove and grabbed a couple of mugs, “Let me get you something.”

“You don’t have to-” he started.

“I know,” she nodded, “But I want to.”

When the tea was done, she placed a cup down in front of him and sat down across from him with her own.

He placed his hands around the mug and felt the warmth seep into them. That was good. Feeling was good. Feeling warm was good.

“This is nice,” she said as she sipped her tea, “Taking care of you, for a change.”

He looked up at her, startled, “Huh?”

She looked at him serenely, “You always take care of us, so it’s nice to be able to return the favor. To let you know just how much you’re appreciated.”

He blushed, chest feeling light and giddy, “Nami, are you falling for me?”

“Don’t ruin it.” She rolled her eyes, “Just drink your tea and thank me for being so thoughtful.”

He delicately picked up the mug. It shook in his hands, but he was able to bring it to his mouth and take a sip. It was delicious, and he wasn’t just thinking that because it was Nami. She’d made it the same way he would have himself.

“Thank you,” he said as he set the mug back down, “for being so thoughtful.”

She gave him a smile that sent his heart into summersaults, “You’re welcome.”

* * *

“So there I was, just me, one rubber band, and a handful of pebbles versus the entirety of the Manticore’s fleet,” Usopp said as he gestured wildly.

“Uh-huh,” Sanji was doing the hand exercises Chopper gave him to do. It was difficult to get through them without searing pain, but Usopp’s story was a good distraction.

“I was out maneuvered, outmanned, out gunned, but not outclassed. Using only three of my limited pebble supply, I was able to knock out about half of the sailors.”

“And, how’d you do that?” Sanji asked politely.

“You know the saying ‘two birds, one stone?’ That was originally about me, but I’ve since increased my bird-to-stone ratio and can now hit about fifty birds with one stone,” he shrugged, “Taking out sailors like that was no big deal.”

“I see,” he said, finishing up the exercises with a sigh. He should probably get up and move around a bit so he wasn’t cooped up in bed all day, but he was so tired.

“Oh, do you need something?” Usopp asked, “Water? Food?”

He considered telling him to fuck off, but if he had help he could move around a bit, “Yeah, help me up?”

“Sure,” Usopp sprung to his feet and helped him out of the bed, “Where do you want to go?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugged, “Just around. Out of here.”

Usopp guided him to the door and took him out on deck. The sea breeze smacked him in the face, and he inhaled it greedily, like he couldn’t get enough.

He could feel Usopp watching him, and it was weird. He was usually the one looking after and protecting Usopp, but now their positions were reversed. He didn’t like being this vulnerable with anybody, but he trusted Usopp, not only to take care of him physically but to do so in a way that didn’t hurt his pride. It was unnerving, realizing that, but he didn’t hate it.

“So what happened next?” he asked.

“Huh? Usopp stared at him.

“After you took out half the sailors on the Manticore’s ship,” he said as he gazed out over the ocean, “What happened next?”

Usopp grinned and threw himself back into his story.

As he listened, a small smile crept across Sanji’s face, a feeling of contentment settling into his chest.

* * *

Sanji was sitting out on the deck, his back against the railing as he felt the sea breeze across his face. A gull flew overhead as he breathed deeply, savoring the ocean around him as a good mood settled over him.

Then Zoro sat down next to him and began cleaning his swords, ruining it.

Asshole.

“Do you mind?” he said, shooting him a look.

“No,” Zoro said, not even looking up from his swords, “You can stay.”

Sanji frowned, and rested uneasily against the railing.

Zoro had been avoiding him since he got hurt. Sanji couldn’t blame him, he was supposed to be Zoro’s equal, the one to watch his back and take care of the others when shit hit the fan. Now he was hurt, all his weakness exposed in one fell swoop. Useless. How could Zoro trust him again? How could anyone?

Sanji sighed as he looked away and out at the ocean, feeling antsy and nervous around Zoro. He wanted to get up and leave, but just coming out here took a lot out of him, and he didn’t want to head back inside already and be stuck in the infirmary for the rest of the day. Zoro could have done this on any other part of the ship. Why the hell did his pick right here?

He finished cleaning the white sword and returned it to its sheath.

“Here,” he said, offering the sword to Sanji, “Hold this.”

He just stared at it, “What?”

“Hold this,” he repeated, giving the sword a slight shake when Sanji didn’t take it, “I don’t want her rolling all over the deck.”

Sanji glanced at Zoro’s other side, where his other two swords were sitting perfectly motionless, despite the waves rocking the ship. It was just the two of them out on the aft deck, so they weren’t even at risk of being accidently knocked overboard.

Zoro smirked at him, “Or are you too much of an idiot to hold on to a sword?”

Sanji’s eyebrow twitched, and he carefully took the sword from him.

With that settled, he unsheathed and began cleaning the red sword.

He stared at the sword in his hands. If he remembered correctly, this was the sword Zoro had on him when they’d met, the one Mihawk didn’t break. It was lighter than he’d thought it would be. Warmer too.

His fingers trailed over the wrappings on the hilt, but then he pulled back, afraid he’d overstepped. He glanced over at Zoro, but he wasn’t even paying him any mind, too focused on cleaning the sword in his hand.

His hand went back to the hilt, but he didn’t take the sword out of his sheath, his hands were damaged enough, and he wouldn’t risk slicing them just to get a look at the blade, or damaging the blade itself by accidently dropping it.

Zoro knew that. He knew Sanji wouldn’t hurt his swords, his most precious possessions.

“Here,” Zoro said as he offered him the red sword.

Sanji took it and held onto it with the other one.

“Carefully with her,” he said as he picked up his last sword, “She’s cursed.”

He eyed him carefully, “What do you mean cursed.”

“I mean, she’s got a bloodlust and kills wielders sometimes.”

Sanji gaped at him.

“You’ll be fine,” he said as he unsheathed the sword, “Just don’t take her out.”

He stared down at the red sword with trepidation, “Why do you carry a sword that can kill you?”

“All swords can kill me,” Zoro answered, then smirked, “Or at least they can try.” He nods down at the sword in Sanji’s hands, “Kitetsu’s a good sword. She just needs a firm hand.”

“You sure it’s okay?” he asked, fingers running over the gold on the hilt.

“Course it’s okay,” he said, focus returning to the sword in his hand, “I trust you. You can handle yourself.”

Sanji stared at the sword. The nervousness left his chest and was replaced by something warmer.

“Oh.” He said simply, relaxing slightly as he leaned back.

With Zoro’s comforting presence at his side and the sea breeze on his face, he felt at peace.

* * *

Sanji’s hands ghosted over his knives, not quite touching them.

Chopper had declared his legs healed enough to stand on his own and his hands functional enough that he could try cooking, if he wanted to.

He wanted to.

But he still wasn’t sure if he was ready yet.

“What’cha gonna make?” Luffy said eagerly from his spot on the counter.

“I’m, not sure,” he admitted.

“Can it be meat?”

That got him to crack a smile, “Yeah, sure.”

“Alright!” He cheered, “I’ve been looking forward to eating Sanji’s food again!”

The smile fell from his face as he glanced back at the kitchen. His kitchen, but with his hands as they were, it all felt so unfamiliar. This was supposed to be his space and he felt like a stranger in it.

“What if,” he started, but stopped, unable to form the words, unsure if he should even say them.

But Luffy was staring at him expectantly now, so he continued, “What if it’s not good?”

“Of course it’ll be good,” he insisted, “Sanji’s food is the best food.”

“Yeah, but what if it’s not, now.” He stared down at his scarred hands, “What if it’s terrible, the worst thing you’ve ever eaten?”

Luffy hummed as he considered the question, “I’ll still eat it. Don’t worry, it won’t go to waste. And you can always make something else later.”

“What if that’s bad too?” He clenched his hands into fists. It wasn’t the wracking pain it was before, but there was still an ache buried deep in them that hadn’t gone away, “What if I can’t make anything good ever again?”

What if he can’t cook anymore?

Luffy stared at him for a long moment, then took his hat off his head and placed it on Sanji’s.

“If you can’t cook anymore, I’ll be sad. Your food is always my favorite.” He frowned, “I’ll have to cook for you. You’ll have to teach me.”

“And when you learn?” He asked as he gripped the straw hat on his head. What use is he to Luffy if he can cook for himself?

Luffy grinned, wide and bright, “Then I get to cook for you, and when you eat it you’ll get to feel all the love and care I put into it. Just like I do whenever I eat your food.”

Sanji stared at him, a smile slowly breaking across his face as the last of his worries fled from him

Luffy still wanted him, broken as he was. Luffy would never abandon.

For the first time in his life, he felt accepted, fully and completely.

He wiped at his eyes to stop the tears that were forming there and opened the fridge.

“Meat it is, Captain.”


End file.
